A Chance for Redemption
by ravenclawphan
Summary: My interpretation of Season 3. Because I am done bawling interminably.
1. Chapter 1: Home

"I'm begging you, please. Please! Stay here." Kenny entreated desperately, hands gripping my shoulders as he shook. His remaining eye embedded me, imploring for my compliance, his beard and clothes adorned in dried and tumultuous blood. He beseeched my submission, but in this situation, it was something I could not provide.

"NO!" I protested earnestly, "No no no no no no!" Tears unwittingly cascaded down my face as I glanced at the broken, begging man. "Why are you doing this!?"

"Because it's the only way," his reply was forlorn and practically inaudible, "for both of you."

He persisted, but I heard almost nothing, concentrated in the oblivion of my own deception: that I could not lose the one person I had left.

"Just, just do as I ask, just this one last time." He emphasized.

"Okay," I conceded, barely comprehending the words escaping my lips, "Okay, we'll stay. We'll stay."

I clutched Rebecca's recently-born child as I engulfed Kenny in one final hug. He was speaking, saying something, but I could not fathom, too obscured by the insufferable agony as he walked away, not even turning back. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that I lost everyone I had and everything I was. It wasn't fair that humanity had dissipated into such an incoherent memory. It wasn't fair….

"Clem? Clementine?!" I awoke to the sound of a tauntingly familiar voice announcing my name. As I adjusted my gaze to the unprecedented brightness, my throat taut and eyes watery, I saw the silhouette of a man I knew I would never encounter again.

"LEE?!"

My jaw dropped. Literally descended and dislodged from every fiber of my being. It wasn't comprehensible. He was certainly not genuine, just a cruel figment displacing my harsh reality.

And yet, as my vision cleared, it became all the more concise. The tall, comforting figure sat, arms enticing me, a concerned stare in his very much alive eyes.

"Clementine, sweet pea, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

I didn't think, without even the remotest hesitation I leapt into his tremendously tangible and concrete hug, felt his warmth as it enveloped me, and the echo of a small, frightened eight-year-old past resounded in sobs of fitting laughter. Over his shoulder I peered, truly seeing ghosts, walking and laughing, some cynical, some uncannily giddy. All real. Duck, kicking a football relentlessly into the wall and Lilly reprimanding him, ordering that he cut the racket. Katjaa and Kenny (void of beard and retaining both eyeballs) discussing something quietly and subjectively. Ben looking genuinely mortified, face pale as he sat upon the RV, and Doug stood adjacent the fence, tampering with something.

They were all here. They had all returned. For me. Just for me.

I was home. And I intended to preserve it.


	2. Chapter 2: Reconstruction

I was emancipated from my state of indecipherable elation and reimbursed to the reality that man-eating monsters still suffused the universe, and that my group, although perhaps alive, was consistently decremented and unhinged. With this, I loosened my desperate and profuse grip on Lee's jacket and liberated myself from the hug, subsequently gazing into his illustrious brown eyes, consoling and sympathetic, consuming me entirely. As he smiled encouragingly and somewhat confusedly, I reanalyzed the people outside, the dead resurrected that I'd previously seen. _Kenny, Katjaa, Duck, Ben, Lilly, Doug_ …

"Where are Mark and Larry?" I inquired cautiously.

"Clem," Lee's expression appeared pained and consolidated. "Clem, you know that…"

 _?_

Answering what I'd intended to be a simple questioned seemed to be most strenuous. Puzzled, I stared at him profoundly, contemplating. And then I recalled. The St. Johns.

I let out an involuntary choke, spontaneously remembering all the horrendous events that had transpired at that atrocious farm. My hands visibly shook, as did my knees, and Lee, noticing practically immediately, embraced me again.

"Shhh…" he soothed, "it's okay. They're gone now. They can't hurt you."

However, his pacifying words could not preclude the dreadful images that I had repressed from appearing; Mark, legs severed dragging himself, an ill pale obscuring his face, groaning urgently, congealed in his own blood. The terrible squelch of a massive cube of salt descending upon Larry's head, gore spewing as it made contact. The scarring, psychologically agonizing memories.

 _I was only eight._

No, I AM only eight. Everything, the lot of it had apparently been a dream. All that I endured, reduced to a superficial, subconscious liability. All of the past two years, nonexistent.

However, I now had a premonition, an exact replica of what would most likely occur in the following months. I could prevent everything, fix it all.

I peered over Lee's shoulder, to see the flustered, jittery teenager descending from his location atop the RV, wincing as Lilly admonished him for something, and walk nervously in the opposite direction.

 _I knew exactly where to start._


	3. Chapter 3: Optimism

As I exited the dingy, dim Motel Inn lodging room, the crisp air wafted as the world emitted the aroma of fresh autumn. However, this fall, the scent was tainted with the condemned odor of death and demolition, a rotten core obliterating the foundation of false pretenses and hope that did not exist. Yet, I could not retain my despondent mannerism, for a gleefully enthusiastic Duck, alive and well, energetically approached me.

"Clementine! Clementine! Over here!" He waved me in what appeared to be attempted stealth over to an insignificant corner of the Inn. Then, with an unprecedentedly broad grin obscuring his face, he opened a miniscule bag, to reveal a half-eaten container of biscuits.

"Dad found them at the drugstore on that last run," he informed me excitedly. His eyes widened as he disclosed the treasures he had procured, "He snuck them to me, and told me I could have them all to myself! And you." He added breathily, speaking so rapidly, his words were barely concise.

"Shhhhhh, though." He continued, "Lilly doesn't know. We have to keep it a _secret_!" he emphasized.

I peered over at the woman who was staring indifferently at us. I inferred that she was aware of Duck's smuggled goods, but she didn't mind.

I turned back to the appealing food, mouth adjourned as I contemplated the last time I'd experienced semi-decent provisions. I gingerly held one up, examining it in the light. The biscuit was approximately the size of my palm, and chocolate crumbled off the corners. It was still somewhat soft, and, although I was possibly simply imagining it, the cookie felt to emit some gracious heat.

This was precious. A phenomenal resource. I momentarily debated whether or not to salvage it, preserving what remained of what used to be conventionality, but my stomach decided prior to my thorough evaluation.

Duck, too, had completed his serving, and looked longingly at the box, practically venerating it. I grasped his hand before he could reach another biscuit, and explained, "We have to _save_ it."

He nodded in agreement, although his comprehension seemed vague. He did not make eye-contact as we communicated, gaze fixated on our little gold mine. I resolved to conceal it my room, for it was obvious he would steal it otherwise.

 _Steal._

My mind returned to its original objective, and I scanned the Inn for Ben. Locating him struggling with a rubbish bag on the opposite side of the street, I determined my plan.

"I'll see you later, Duck," I spoke.

"Bye Clementine."

I ran across quickly to adhere the same position as the lanky teen, gasping as I reached him. He glanced down at me curiously, raising an eyebrow, "Are you okay, Clem?"

Before I could respond, I noticed Lee advancing toward us. He waved at me coherently, then addressed Ben.

"You ready?" he inquired.

"Yeah," Ben replied, lifting the trash bag as if to gesture.

"What's going on?" I asked, momentarily perturbed by the unfamiliar sound of my infinitesimal voice.

"Nothing Clem," Lee answered, "Ben's just taking out the disposal stuff for us."

"Can I come?" I requested immediately, uncertain as to what my concrete plot was. Lee's eyebrows furrowed as he considered my appeal. "It might be dangerous…" he condoned explanatorily.

"But Lilly taught Ben how to shoot," I insisted, gripping his jacket and one side of the garbage, "I'll be safe."

"Alright," Lee succumbed reluctantly. "But be careful."

"I nodded gratefully, and hurried after Ben, who'd already opened the back barricade of the Inn.

I was ready to preclude upcoming disaster.


	4. Chapter 4: Assault

I concurrently accompanied Ben, hands clutching the rubbish bag, which emitted a foul smell, enervating the air surrounding me. Ben stood a few feet ahead me, briskly stepping along the path, trodden with leaves that had relinquished hope on their futile existences, similar to the few of us who remained; void of faith that any temperance could accomplish mercy. Unintentionally continuing an arbitrary, meaningless ineffectuality, blatantly oblivious of what not could be achieved any longer. Nothing was left, which caused us to ponder if anything was ever concretely present.

As a pain coincided my prevalent deliberation, I could no longer endure the mental exertion of contemplating. Shaking my head as if to abrade my solemn thoughts, I glanced up at the teenager, whose face appeared sickeningly pale. I questioned if he had acquired any food whatsoever in the past weeks; Lilly, in her undermined state, did not take kindly to those she interpreted to be liabilities. Untrustworthy, disturbed, intolerable. I did not necessarily accuse him for his tentative and desperate actions: he had been disrespected and rejected since his arrival. I would certainly have felt equivalently terrified and hasty. Not to justify what he'd done previously, and what it had instigated, but I still trusted Ben. He was still my friend. I returned to observing his skittish behavior, monitoring his clammy grip on the bag.

"Are you okay?" I innocently queried, genuinely concerned.

He jumped suddenly, as though he had only just distinguished my presence in the situation, as though he too had been deleteriously lost in his own perpetual hurricane of destructive considerations; an all-consuming void of depleting thoughts.

"Y-yeah…" he stuttered uncertainly, ambivalence deriving his concern.

I'd prepared to interrogate further, as subtly and mildly as possible. However, as we turned the corner upon the pavement and approached the desolate location where we conventionally disposed of the garbage, a startling yelp pierced the sullen silence.

Suddenly and unpredictably, several men ambushed and surrounded us; my comprehension of the situation diminished, as I was genuinely confounded, rendered paralyzed.

Ben's countenance was no better: the little colour his face had retained immediately dissipated, his lips pressed tautly, and he shivered, despite the sodden humidity. His expression was ambiguous.

Somehow, I managed, in my incapacitated state, to count the myriad of men around us. Ten, in total, and no doubt more concealed within the brush of the forest.

"Well, well, well…..." one of the masked bandits chided, snarling inductively, "What have we heeeere?..."

His voice was sickeningly thick and raspy, and he gargled with every breath. He walked in menacing, circular movements, looking snidely at us with his vicious grey, cold eyes.

I gasped as his gaze fell upon me, and abruptly, my own stare was transfixed in the orbital abyss of nothingness, a condoned reduction, devoid of humanity, that were the orbs in the cavity of his skull. This man was no longer a human being; even less than the atrocious monsters wandering the world. His entity was gone, nonexistent.

No humanity.

No sympathy.

No care.

Nothing.

He frigidly chuckled, and, although his expression was obscured, I saw the smirk upon his face. He turned swiftly upon Ben, who, although taller, cowered under his glare.

"You didn't keep your promise!" he spat, "You didn't get those supplies to us. And you're gonna regret it."

He slid from seemingly empty air a dauntingly sharp scalpel, slashed it down without hesitation, and ripped a gash in the terrified teenager's face. Blood descended from the fresh incision on his cheek, cascading upon the rustic ground in solitudial stride.

Yet, Ben, the coward, the traitor, the detriment; he didn't even flinch.

Quite imposingly, he stared back at the bandit as he lifted the weapon again. This occasion, conversely, the merciless man tossed the now blood-procured tool aside, dismissing it, as he returned to confront me.

"However," he spoke sharply, broad grin implied in his manner, I _am_ willing to forgive you…"

He placed his fingers upon my face, brushing my skin perversely. "At a price," he snarled.

It was when he gripped my hair and pulled me treacherously forward that the second unprecedented happening transpired.

Ben withheld his gun, levelling it precisely with my abductor's head.

Evidently as shocked as I, the man reversed a few steps, before regaining his pertinent stride and snickering admonishingly, gripping my arm to steady himself. Apparently, this was the most elusively amusing phenomenon he'd yet encountered.

"Let her go"

The teen's words escaped silently, yet were perhaps the most prominent existence, quivering but firm, heard by all.

The bandit's laughter perceptively ceased, and everything arrived at a soundless, translucent halt.

His succeeding sentence conjured chills upon my spine, tangibly concise.

"Imma take this here pretty, little girl back home with me, you hear? And when I'm done with her, cutie won't even be able to fucking walk, Yeah?-"

He had barely concluded his threat before the bullet entered his brain.


	5. Chapter 5: Safety

The atmosphere was tainted with an unprecedented shock, startled to the extent of being physically incapacitated. Everything and everyone seemed suddenly paralyzed, claimed by the astonishment of unexpected transparencies. A violently overwhelming moment debilitated all, obscuring the universe in a perpetuator of responsive, reality-shattering deception. Yet, it was genuinely occurring; the bullet flew directly through the masked man's countenance, elegantly emancipating a stream of blood to project from the back of his head. The events that transpired were suddenly diminished to a time-implemented nothingness, emerging all too rapidly, yet so slow that I could analyze every insignificant feature.

Bewildered bandits regressed, losing grip on their weapons, deforming from the menacing circle they had formed around us.

The cadaver's clasp on my hair was released prominently, and, opportunity recognized, the mortified, pale-faced teen quickly clutched the perspiring palm of my hand. I stared imminently, yet, I was unable to see. My view was glazed, concealed by the fragmentary astounded incomprehension. Thoroughly disoriented, I clumsily shook, proceeding towards Ben before a few of the bandits regained composure.

Their weapons erect, a disarray of arrows plummeted, one grazing my arm, and as the incision began to sting, I realized the solemn urgency of the situation.

And suddenly we were running, gracelessly plunging in an unidentified direction, unaware of where we were escaping, just prevalently knowing that consistent movement was vital. Literally essential.

Detached from practically everything that was currently happening, my thoughts rebounded, ricocheting off one another and combining, lapsing within my head. My vision blurred, and I stumbled over upon myself.

However, Ben's grip did not dislodge from mine.

And then the gunshots initiated. Bullets emanating, directed obviously towards the nemesis, the crossbow wielding devil. Warily, I glanced up; a familiar figure stood atop the RV, firing incessantly, without reluctance.

Lilly.

Infuriated, determined, aggravated, terrifying. Her expression itself caused me to cower, wincing though no pain befell me. I felt unreasonably lethargic, unaware of anything, immobilized by fear.

I recalled the great arms engulfing me, though. Remembered the soothing voice in my ear, reassuring me.

"It's okay, Clem,"

 _Lee Everett_

"It's gonna be okay, sweet pea, you're safe."

Safe. It was okay. I was safe.

 _Safe._


	6. Chapter 6: Evacuation

It lapsed an approximate hour for me to accomplish a composed tranquility; the incident had successfully incapacitated me, and I felt physically ill for quite a significant period of time afterwards. It was petrifyingly provocative, the realization of detriments and vulnerabilities that I would inevitably encounter. I couldn't prevent anything, and I suddenly felt guilt for the adversities I had caused. I wasn't immune to the horrors abounding our sullen existences, I could not cope with this foundation of tentativeness, the void that I could not save everyone.

For the previous predicament had enlightened me this: I wasn't in control. Death was an unavoidable plausibility, and, in that moment, I was so detrimentally incompetent, I could not hinder it.

Any optimism remaining for preserving the redemptive opportunity I'd been provided distinguished, evaporating as the heat of prudence and tormenting legitimacy consumed it entirely, all hope, all content.

I was safe, but only to the superficial exertion of tangible ambiguity. I could not deny that we were all so unhinged from security, that it was but a wavering dot in the distance, alluring, yet, nonexistent.

I was sat in the motel room, shivering evasively, as outside, commotion erupted. Gunshots pierced the foreboding sky, deafening all sense of perpetuity.

Lilly and Lee stood profusely ahead the blockade, firing into the mass, obstruction being slowly deteriorated as an innumerable myriad of bandits abraded it.

Kenny and Doug hastily executed any remaining contributions to the RV, preparing to evacuate the premises.

Katjaa encompassed Duck in her arms, suffocating him, as they avoided the destruction, in attempts to reach the rehabilitated vehicle.

 _I had no idea what had happened to Ben._

The forlorn deliberation of it all caused a draft of pessimism to invade me, pressing upon my boundaries, willing me to break entirely, for all the strings to dislodge.

It was over. I had to give up.

The door to my lodging hung ajar, crudely depleting in the breeze that had managed to ascend above the ruckus, spurring the scents of gunpowder and imperious demise.

Over the relentless clatter, the screaming, and the decremented threats, I heard the growling disturbance of a notified group of walkers approaching, enticed by the emitted noise.

 _It's over. I give up._

I had failed imminently. We were destined for fatal quietuses, and they were arriving consecratedly.

"YOU DECEIVING MOTHERFUCKERS!" the voice erupted indignantly, overcoming all the sound, "YOU PROMISED US! WE HAD A DEAL! YOU LITTLE SHITS! YOU'LL ALL BURN IN HELL, YOU THIEVING, LYING, TWO-FACED MURDERERS!"

A significantly perturbed bandit seemed to be indulging in a fit of complaint. The consequence was a bullet through the eye courtesy of Lilly.

And this was when I realized how ruthless we were. The disastrous apocalypse had reduced us to disgusting monsters, more so then the reanimated corpses. All the burdens, the losses, the grief; they were compensated by concurring unspeakable things. Condoning murder, undeterred by killing other human beings.

 _We were no better than the bandits themselves._

However, as I initiated pondering my insights, a gruff, shaken yell caught my attention.

"Clem! Come on! We have to go!"

Lee swung himself aggressively into my room, sweat clinging desperately to his forehead as he gasped precariously, arm extended towards me, gesturing me to rise.

Completely selfless, with no regard for his own well-being, all concern concentrated on my preeminence.

Eyes embedding me, an onslaught irrefutable.

Lee was my hope. Lee was my sanity.

His unspoken presence reimbursed my faith in humanity. As long as there endured Lee Everetts in this world, we could never descend to the piracy of the bandits.

I accepted his persistent hand, and, blanket adorned upon me, succeeded him towards the RV.

Lilly was consistently shooting, Kenny was prepared at the wheel of the vehicle, Doug ushered us inside, and through the window, I endeavored Katjaa and Duck.

"Lilly!" Lee waved her over urgently, voice emanating apprehension.

We had all piled into the RV, having gathered as many supplies as possible, when I realized that not all of our party were present.

Just as I attempted querying, I noticed Lee's gaze, scrutiny unsettled and mortified. I followed it out of the RV's window, to the cracked and premised wall of the Motor Inn.

There, slouched against the concrete, was a grim-looking Ben, staring ponderously at the gun in his hands, vibrating finger placed morbidly on the trigger.

The muzzle of which was embedded in his chest.


	7. Chapter 7: Apathy

"NO!"

My shriek was congested and stifled by the unprecedented shock that conjured a bombarding pounding mechanism. My heart literally racing, I practically involuntarily proceeded out of my seat, vaulting rapidly towards the entrance, suddenly compositely oblivious to the abounding hazards surrounding me. Incapability to logically contemplate overcame me, obstructing my pertinence; all I knew was my unwavering incapacity to permit anyone's undeterred demise, especially of their own volition. My considerations were indecipherable, as though caught amongst themselves in a viscous, frozen capsule.

Resolute on my intentions, I had not realized that others, more adept at aiding than I, had already rushed to assist. I was precluded from exiting the RV as Lilly grasped me at the foot of the entrance, determinately holding me stationary, despite my frantic, obsolete will to discharge her clutches. My struggling, futile attempts provided nothing, and I consistently cursed my insignificant size and strength.

"Clem, stop," she sternly instructed, "They've got it."

'They' induced Lee and Doug who had immediately bounded towards the morosely melancholy-drowned teenager. I watched disconsolately as Lee quickly pulled the weapon from Ben's clasp, and Doug frenziedly seized his arm.

"What the hell was that?!" Lee demanded insolently, spitting profoundly in ambiance and agitation.

"I-I," Ben began to stutter incriminatingly, blush adorning his colorless face.

 _He knew what he'd done. He blamed himself. He'd almost gotten everyone killed._

Uncompromising, unrelinquishing guilt had compromised the teen's rationality, panicked anticipation coercing him to resort to terminating and dire actions.

"Come on," Doug offered cautiously, expression conveying concern and empathy, reassuring him moderately, "It's okay. You're okay."

Before the melodramatic ensue could continue, the wall barricading the Inn was brutally demolished, and crossbow arrows suddenly pervaded, soaring through the fabrication of sanity, tearing all away from any preempted complications.

Concluding the drastic events promptly, Lee returned quickly to the sanctuary of the vehicle, Kenny meanwhile barking prominent, incomprehensible orders, which were evidently directed instantaneously. A generous, gentle tug on his jacket courtesy of Doug convinced Ben to reluctantly accompany him to the brutal torment of existing.

Subsequently, our ride hastily abandoned our former retreat, desolate in hope's fragmentary remains, condoning nothing, and losing everything.

As the RV temperately advanced along the secluded rode, the internal capacity of the trailer conducted an atmospherically imprecated tension.

Duck, blissfully insensible of the prior events continuously complained:

"Muuum, What's going on? Why is it so quiet?"

"Hush, Ducky" was always the invariable response.

I leaned precariously against Lee's comforting figure, gently soothing my erratically urged and terrified conscience. I was numbed substantially by his presence, pacified to such an extent, I was almost tired.

I barely heard Lilly's excessive chatter, and didn't bother endeavoring to comprehend it. She paced, perturbed by something, though I couldn't possibly care less what, whilst Doug evaluated her nervously. Occasionally, the latter would spare a quick expense at Ben, sat in the rear of the RV, head medially buried in his pathetically botched hands.

Duck, having sacrificed his inquiries, had fallen asleep, and Katjaa and Kenny appeared to be exchanging unhinged glances.

However, in my delightful ambiguity, I remained completely indifferent. Eight of us had instigated this endeavor, and eight of us lingered. My objectives were momentarily fulfilled. I was satisfied.

With this final, placating thought, I drowsily descended into an unremitting sleep.


	8. Chapter 8: Accusation

The composite, mockingly tranquilizing silence, deemed so rarely melancholy, a fate endeavored pertinently and unpredictably, with sullen presence I drowned, descending into a viscous texture of development in nothingness. An arbitrary, deafening nonchalance, preemptive of the tactics of the harshly invasive and decrementing world collapsed. The charade of beauty, consuming all in a dreaded reality, deteriorating profoundly, implemented to conceal the ominous in what was authentic.

A pessimism mundane, corrupt, only to be derived and veered by the inviting relief and distraction of servile slumber. Euphorically with an interference so alluring, a subdued form of death itself. So appealing in sense, to give up, to fail, a meaninglessness in entirety confined.

But that wasn't possible. I couldn't give up. Not anymore.

The consequences were too severe.

It was the deranged cries of perpetuity that awakened me, alerted me to what was no longer stable and reliable.

"LILLY! Calm down. You're overanalyzing this. You need to calm down."

Shifting my gaze, I turned towards the rear of the RV, lethargically lifting myself from my vulnerably comfortable position.

Relaxation was no longer an option.

Lee and Lilly were stood adjacent an impermanent-appearing table, at which Ben was sat, head buried within his palms, as Lilly's insensible words shrieked in accusation, flaunting with aggravation.

"HOW CAN I CALM DOWN, LEE?! You heard what he said: _'You promised us. We had a deal.'_ It's obvious that someone was providing them supplies, or-or SOMETHING! Someone from inside!"

Lilly was frantic and perhaps paranoid, but she was far from ignorant.

 _She knew._

Infuriatedly she continued, "That was the 'deal'. That's why they weren't attacking us. They were _using_ us! To get easy food, easy meds!"

He turned harshly towards Ben, addressing him steadfastly, expression conveying anger beyond comprehension.

"Which means there's a traitor IN THIS VAN!"

 _And of course, he was the initial suspect._

"Lilly," Lee attempted conversing wearily, avoiding her incriminating glare, "That's crazy. You're thinking way too much. The bandits have _always_ been a threat. And you know they're insanely irrational. Why would you believe that?"

"Why would he say it?!" Lilly retorted emphatically.

"THEY'RE ALL FUCKING SENSELESS! They always have been," Lee repeated earnestly, "We CAN'T turn on each other because of what some goddamn FREAK said."

"The 'freak' is RIGHT, Lee, whether you like it or not." Lilly rounded on Lee, snarl penetrating him, intimidatingly, terrifyingly.

"Ah, cool it, Lilly," Kenny commented from his seat at the steering wheel, sneering at the flustered woman. "You're just upset because we were forced to up and leave the Motor Inn. You really think that place is fucking heaven, don't you?"

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT THE MOTOR INN!" Lilly exclaimed, nearly exploding in the exasperation of oblivion. "THIS is about SECURITY. And NONE OF US are safe as long as the bastard who betrayed us is still with us."

"We're all fine, Lilly," Lee retaliated, gesturing to the passengers and boxes. "Everyone's still got their health, and we've salvaged practically ALL the supplies."

"None of that will matter, Lee. Can't any of you understand? There is a traitor, a murderer, a thief AMONG US!"

She was practically entreating now, pleading for conscience, an agreement, consolidation.

None of which, she realized, she would receive.

She turned again on Ben, retaining his position, barely breathing.

"So…" she whispered menacingly, stare unwavering, "we need to talk."

"Lilly, please. Just stop."

Everyone astonishingly turned to notice Doug, conventionally unspoken and unopinionated during disputes, speak up.

Unsettled, he continued, "I know I'm in no place to get involved in this, but Ben didn't do anything. None of us did." He insisted.

"How would you know, Doug?" Lilly disregarded him imposingly.

Ben glanced up, voice quivering, "I swear, I didn't-"

"I don't want to hear it, Ben," Lilly composed, "I already know it was you. Don't you fucking lie to me."

He flinched. "Sorry," he muttered, glancing away.

"Lilly, STOP IT."

This time, Doug's voice emanated determinedly, "You can't treat people like this. Especially not one of us."

"FINE!" she screamed illogically, "Stick up for your fucking boyfriend. I honestly don't care, Doug. In fact, I-"

"Lilly, calm the fuck down!" Kenny rotated his position to face her, eyes portraying an irrefutable ire, "NO ONE is with you on this. Can't you just chill ou-?"

"Kenny, watch out!" Katjaa's shriek interrupted his fury. All of us having been attentively evaluating the argument, nobody noticed the walker stood directly in front of the vehicle.

Kenny swerved quickly, but still inevitably collided with the monster.

"FUCK!" he exclaimed, and climbed, perturbed, from the RV.

Lilly herded everyone else out.

The quarrel transpired, but I heard naught of it. I was aware of the effects of this encounter, what would inexorably happen should I not intervene.

 _I needed to stop it. I HAD to._

Just as I pondered desperately, thoughts clashing and mingling inexhaustibly, Kenny dislodged the walker from underneath the trailer.

And the gun was raised.


	9. Chapter 9: Affront

Time halted indefinitely. With concerning prevalence, my heartbeat resounded within my considerations. Mind obscured in panic and inexorably perpetual impertinence, I exclaimed, reacting spontaneously, incapable of initially analyzing rationally. Agony ricocheting of my incompetence, sullen consuming me in a presumptuous void, debilitating silence abounding a monotonous relent.

Doug appeared first to notice the alarming weapon, in association to Lilly's incapacitatingly petrifying glare, preempt with a tedious paranoia. Instantaneously, he endeavored rapidly precluding the aim of the bullet, directed towards Ben, whose averted gaze interpreted no haste or cautionary precision. Frantically, Lilly concurred the gun, attempting desperately in what she assumed an imperative manner, oblivious to the absurdity pervading a glossiness that concealed all logic.

The fragmented replications of former disaster ensued, and, having had not previously established an effective procedure, I hastily screamed, suddenly obstructed to my surroundings and the mortified expressions as the transpiration was horrifically viewed. Evaluation could not continue, for desperation in inanity would compulsorily claim lives of all, and descend upon our group in melancholy precipitation. Thus constructed, I decided to physically hinder the catastrophe, thrusting myself urgently upon Lilly's deranged, disoriented form.

The tumultuous bangs of preeminence, the gunshot abraded so illogically deafened me momentarily, my thoughts dislodging from one another as the sound erupted dauntingly within my ears.

As my condemned vision was restored and I collapsed from upon the woman's back, I witnessed what my actions had instigated; Ben, astounded and terrified, but fortunately uninjured stood adjacent Kenny and Duck, who had evidently awakened during the imperious commotion. Lilly had regained composure, but her countenance portrayed a distant, disbelieving expression. Lee had seemingly been deemed paralyzed, frozen in an unnaturally abrasive stance, and Katjaa stood, deterred in shock, in the doorframe.

Everyone's stares were transfixed upon a wounded Doug, distorted upon the ground, silent yells recurring, oblique blood pervading from his foot, apparently independent from his leg.

He screamed in excruciating pain, conveying the distraught that caught us all impaired, until he fell unconscious, upon which an eerie, uncomfortable calm despaired what sanity remained, obtaining the detriment of disbelief. Compromised by the incredulous impossibility of the situation, we remained unconventionally still, only reassuming poise when alerted by distant growling of approaching walkers, attracted by Doug's decrementing shrieks.

Duck was first to speak, presence trembling with an unusual and slightly perturbing morbidity, quivering as he inquired, "I-is...He...?"

"No!" Katjaa intervened, "he is only cataleptic." She insisted, despite the uncertainty that tainted her prediction.

"He's fine," Kenny composed, reluctantly impending Doug's insentient form, "We just need to stop the bleeding. He'll be fine!"

"I…I-" Lilly attempted to commence, but was interrupted by an imminent thud.

I turned to encounter a menacingly infuriated Lee, who had pinned the defeated-looking woman to the wall of the RV. His eyes, so illustriously understanding and kind, now consulted a frighteningly intimidating anger, as he implanted her with a stern and heinous gaze.

"You SHOT him!"

"I-I didn't mean to…It-it wasn't supposed to be him!"

"So you would've killed a kid?!" Kenny interjected.

The "kid" still appeared unorthodoxly encumbered; he was stood above Doug, loitering unprecedentedly. Fear obscured his face, and he stared somewhat warily as Katjaa attended to the injured man, Duck concealing himself behind her.

The quarrel alongside me continued, fury insinuating Lilly, who stared unaware, tears painting her face.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?!" Kenny accused consistently.

"I'm sorry-I…" She peered down despondently concluding an overwhelmed position.

"Get inside!" Lee barked furiously, hands still restraining her against the wall.

"We can't trust her, Lee," Kenny objected. "She-"

"I'll die out here!" Lilly implored, sobbing relentlessly. She met Ken's unwavering glare. "Please…"

"FINE!" he succumbed grudgingly, conceding uncharacteristically. He continued to aid his wife in assisting Doug's body upon the trailer; she had unprofessionally fashioned a cloth bandage to prevent the mutilating bleeding. Ben encouraged a mortified Duck upon the vehicle, succeeding whom was Lilly.

I glanced at Lee, whose expression immediately softened. He accepted my shivering hand, warmth courteously reassuring me, as we stepped onto the RV.

The atmosphere within had altered distinguishably, tense with melancholy, ingested in conjecture of nothingness and imminent distress.

Kenny rehabilitated the engine, and we sustained towards Savannah, overwhelmed with apprehension, leaving the herd of monsters behind.


	10. Chapter 10: Reassurance

Silence pervaded the tepidly unnerved contents of the RV. The incapacitating disbelief embraced what little reality condoned, submerging us into a pit of perturbingly subconscious disturbance.

Doug remained unconscious, sprawled unceremoniously and inanimately upon the countertops, now drenched in blood. Katjaa hovered distinctly over him, desperately pertaining the wound. Duck sat adjacent me, uncharacteristically discreet and stoic. The atmosphere precluded any optimism from seeping through the broken, undefined faults of the imperious null; all was void.

At the circumference of a table, Lilly was sat, dazed and horrified. Paranoia had evidently obscured her, fear and incredulous ambivalence replacing her will. Ben was opposite her, clutching with quivering hands the same gun that, seconds previously, was aimed at his head.

Lee had encompassed me, and despite the circumstances, he emitted an aura of unprecedented, nonpolar hope. I felt reassured instantaneously, knowing he was alive, that he was objectively breathing, though his gasps were heaved and deliberated.

 _He wasn't dead._

 _He hadn't left me._

Unfortunate though the precarious situation may have proposed, Lee was the closest correlation to parent I could ever again experiencing, and nothing would ever sacrifice that. No priority was more imperative. I would choose Lee Everett over oxygen.

With this contemplation stifling my petrified defeat, I stood tentatively, diffidently proceeding towards Katjaa.

"Do you need help?"

Her wary expression conveyed her exhaustion, her concern. She frantically coerced a manipulated and illegitimate smile. "You should rest, honey. You must be tired."

"I want to help," I persisted, insufferably evading glancing toward Doug's damaged appendage.

"Okay," she succumbed semi-reluctantly, though she seemed to be pleasantly appeased by my aid. "Could you please hold down this leg? Don't apply too much pressure, now; just enough to stop the bleeding."

I nodded, succeeding to suppress the injured composition, recalling what Christa had imparted upon me, and attempting to disguise my consistent disgust of the viscous texture and seeping blood.

"Perfect!" Katjaa exclaimed, concentration molding her countenance to confident strife. She addressed me graciously.

"Thank you, Clementine."

The bleeding was now relatively nonexistent, permitting only slight, inconsistent drops to resurface. As Katjaa applied generously perpetrating substances, Doug's breathing eased, if only remotely.

I felt genuinely gratified; he wasn't dead. Not yet. Things were transpiring adequately.

With this, I altered my attentive concern to Lilly, who still seemed quite bemused.

"Are you okay?" I asked tranquilly.

Having been addressed, she turned, apparently surprised to encounter me, as though she had been embarking an abyss and could not fathom structural authenticity.

"Clem…" her voice emitted a broken pertinence, implausibly shaken and dismembered. "I-I…"

"It wasn't you're fault, you know?"

"Huh?" she glanced up astoundedly, gazing towards me in skepticism, incomprehensibly processing my words."

"You didn't mean to shoot him."

No. She had intended rather to irrefutably slaughter a terrified, secluded, frail teenage boy. However, consolation was tremendously more integral than logic in the current situation, so I humbly and practically inaudibly continued.

"It was an accident. You made a mistake. It's okay."

She ensued staring at me wistfully, like an infinitesimal, abused animal imploring someone for mercy.

I decidedly established the welcoming, embedding arms of the puppy's gracious new owner. I would be her mercy.

"It's okay," I repeated, as though the falsifying façade of words could remedy what had occurred, "Doug's fine. Katjaa's fixing him."

She shook her head, murmuring incoherently, "I shot him. I could have killed him."

"But you didn't," I disputed feverently, "You didn't kill him."

 _Not this time._

The ghosts of streaks upon her face indicated prior tears, but my condolences could repair what had been debilitated. I knew it could. It had to.

"They must all hate me even more, now…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"I don't hate you."

With this, I sat adjacent her, entreating her with my gaze for rationality.

"I don't hate you Lilly. Please don't leave."

She continued glaring at the floor, inarguably aggravated with it, with herself.

I stood, knowing that I had implemented some sanguinity within her fragile testament.

"And Lilly…"

I turned, sitting back down on the relatively uncomfortable and slightly blood-splattered sofa-chair, upon which Lee had exhaustedly descended into imperpetual dormancy, and Duck had assumed an almost fetal position, procuring an endeavored apathy.

"Thank you. For the hair things."

I'd never expressed my appreciation for the two, miniscule elastic bands that had salvaged my life.


	11. Chapter 11: Fear

A preeminent disgust repulsed, despite the evident unconsciousness of the situation. The RV reeked of glorified loathe, and, fully aware that I had presented a vehemently untrusted lie, I sat vulnerably and uncomfortably in the presence of tension more adhesive than the rubber cement my teacher had once unintentionally applied to her own hair. Lilly, face compelled in a submerging repress of bright, violent red, stared impertinently at Doug, whose breathing had eased significantly and graciously, with expressions of thorough and genuine concern. The currently improvised trauma, though unfortunate, was conveniently appointed to allot me the time to redeem Ben's guilt.

Katjaa sat deferentially towards the front, attempting desperately to convey a collectedly blasé implication of the revolt, whilst Duck harrowed me halfheartedly, quite unprecedentedly shaken and disturbed by the prior concurrence. Kenny drove insolently, looking inappropriately infuriated. As I analyzed him, occasionally glancing back to exchange a gaze with Lee and subsequently turning to pierce Lilly with a viciously malevolent glare, I felt a hand grip my shoulder. I had subconsciously perceived nothing of what Duck had said so far, so I was relatively shocked and stirred when my contemplation was interrupted when he shook me and inquired, "Are you scared, Clem?"

 _Are you scared?_

The concept of fear seemed so superficially impudent and inconsiderate now, so conventional, it was almost laughable. Yet, somehow, what was intended a simple question, inclined for comfort, perturbed me: was I scared? Or had my experiences incited a steel, cold, impenetrable force so great, my emotions had been stifled and diluted? Impressionably, all I had seen had been but and unsubstantial, insentient dream, right? However, everything thus far that had transpired continued to comply with the insensibly impeded "vision" I'd had.

Of course, I was denied the plausibility to ponder this as Duck ensued to stare at me, eyes profaned with something I had not yet encountered in them, glint gone, and exhilaration replaced. Optimism slowly dissipating. "I-."

But I could not reply, for suddenly, the vehicle jolted, and I was thrown from my position backwards, colliding with the RV's seat, on which Ben had fallen asleep, and Lilly remained abnormally alert. Upon impact, however, everyone who had begun to dose off were cruelly reinhabited to the detrimental reality, which consumed heartily at the souls of those who retained any hope whatsoever, ingesting their confidence by eradicating what was left of an imperfect world, and replacing it with dystopian immaculacy.

"Sorry!" Kenny grumbled from up front, and quite abruptly, I realized how afraid I was: I was so imminently mortified of myself, of everything, of my friends, of death itself, which had been reduced to something interpreted normal, so horridly and irremediably, that it was mutilating me. Excruciating dread distressing me at every moment, petrifying me, paralyzing me. It was so disgustingly unfair. I could barely recall what had, apparently, occurred less than a year ago: complaining staidly about school, my relations with others, most of whom who were now gone perpetually, destroyed by what had become. Everything was gone. I now, rather than eagerly anticipating a jubilant celebration for my approaching birthday, reprieved an apprehension so surreal, it effectively killed my will to live.

I looked at Duck, who steadily reimbursed his previous, decremented stability, standing cautiously, gaze affected with dismay. I stared directly into his eyes, and opened my mouth to respond, momentarily afraid that terror had swindled my ability to speak.

"I am. I'm so, so scared."


End file.
